


The favour

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, a bit of misunderstandings, but it's completely accidental, matchmaker!Sherlock, or at least that's his intention, pretty much ignores canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Sherlock’s particular brand of favours usually leave much to be desired.Only time will tell if that’s the case with this particular one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EventHorizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/gifts).



> This is my contribution for the [FTH 2019](https://fandomtrumpshate.dreamwidth.org/)’s auction. The highest bidder was EventHorizon and I was given different prompts to pick whichever took my fancy ;) 
> 
>  
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>  
> 
> So, this is the prompt I choose: “Mycroft goes to collect Sherlock from Lestrade's office after yet another debacle and Sherlock reaches onto Greg's desk, grabs one of a pair of tickets and shoves it into Mycroft's hand, saying that Greg can now actually focus on their case because he has someone to attend this event/class with him.  Could be something like a concert or an exhibit or a photography, bird watching, etc. class. And romance ensues!”
> 
>  
> 
> Of course I took a few liberties, but I was given a lot of freedom to do pretty much what I wanted as long as there was Mystrade so… well :P This is the direction I choose to go in.
> 
>  
> 
> So, before we start, a million thanks to the FTH’s organizers, to everyone who participated and naturally to EventHorizon for their generosity. I hope the end result will be entertaining and will meet their expectations ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

A soft knock on the door interrupts Greg in the middle of his long rant and he pinches the bridge of his nose, an annoyed expression on his face. From the corner of his eye he catches sight of Sherlock’s self satisfied smirk and it’s almost enough to send him into another rant, but he figures he should attend to his visitor first.

“Come in,” he calls, sending a quick glare in Sherlock’s direction that he hopes conveys he ought to behave _or else._ Of course he has never quite worked out what _or else_ means when it comes to Sherlock and, in any case, it’s not like Sherlock is inclined to do as he’s asked, no matter what.

“Evening, Detective Inspector,” a voice says and Greg’s attention goes to the newcomer right away, telling himself he’s not about to flush and start stuttering like a teenage girl with a crush.

“Mycroft,” he greets politely, proud of himself for keeping his tone even. Behind him, Sherlock snickers and he turns to shot yet another glare at the younger man, who raises his hands in mock surrender. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you,” he says, (far from it, actually) turning his attention back to Mycroft, “but I have everything under control here.”

“Do you?” Mycroft says, tone dripping sarcasm and Greg does his best to stop himself from flushing. “I know you’re a very capable man, Inspector,” Mycroft continues, softening the blow somewhat. “But my brother is… a lot to handle.”

Sherlock bristles but before he can attempt to defend himself, Greg intervenes. “Of course, but I’ve already called John. He should be here any minute now.”

Sherlock deflates right away, Greg notices and he smirks just the slightest bit. His eyes meet Mycroft’s then and they share a conspiring look. “Most wise,” Mycroft agrees, nodding, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips and Greg’s heart soars with pride. _He made him smile!_ “Well then, Inspector, I’m sorry for doubting you. But since it seems everything is under control indeed, I’ll be taking my leave.”

It takes every bit of Greg’s self control not to do or say something foolish right then, like beg the other man to stay. He does have everything under control, of course, but he likes Mycroft’s visits entirely too much.

“Of course,” he agrees with a smile and while he hears Sherlock huff, he’s too busy staring at Mycroft to properly notice what the younger man is doing, which, as usual, it’s a big mistake.

“Before you go, brother mine,” Sherlock says, pulling his companions’ attention back to him and to Greg’s great horror he realizes he’s holding an invitation in his hands. “Perhaps you could put Lestrade out of his misery so he may actually focus on his work.”

“ _Sherlock_!” Greg hisses, reaching for the envelope, trying and failing not to blush. God, how did he even find out about that?

“Oh, come of it, Lestrade, I’m doing you a favour!” Sherlock exclaims, eyes alight with mischief, using his height to his advantage and holding the invitation away from Greg’s reach. “Besides, I happen to know for a fact my brother has an opening in his agenda and he’ll be happy to go with you.”

Oh, the insufferable man! One of these days that mouth of his is going to get him killed and Greg won’t even attempt to stop it. “Sherlock--” he starts, only to be interrupted by Mycroft’s soft question.

“Go where?”

Greg turns around so quickly that it’ll be a wonder if he doesn’t get whiplash. “School reunion,” Sherlock replies, taking advantage of Greg’s momentary distraction. “The good Inspector has been acting all distracted ever since the invitation came along.”

That’s not fair, not at all. Greg is a professional, if nothing else and he’d never let his personal life get in the way of his work. Isn’t that exactly what put an end to his marriage?

Well, that among several other things.

“I see,” Mycroft replies after a brief moment of silent consideration. “Am I right to assume this reunion is causing you distress because you fear running into a certain someone?”

Greg sighs, running his fingers through his hair, figuring it’s a lost cause. “My ex is going too,” he replies with a helpless shrug. He doesn’t know for sure, of course, but it’s the sort of thing Megan loved attending. Great place for gossip, she’d say.

He knows he’s being ridiculous. He could simply _not go_ and that’d be it. Or he could go on his own, he’s fairly sure some of his old mates will be attending to so it’s not like he’d be alone the whole evening but--

But Megan will probably be taking her new _boyfriend_ with her and silly and immature as it might be, Greg doesn’t want to show up alone or not show at all. It feels like conceding defeat, in a way, and ridiculous as it might be--

“Ah,” Mycroft replies, mouth twisting unhappily. God, what must the man think of him? “Very well. Email me the details at your earlier convenience, Inspector.” And before Greg can even process the words, before he can properly start freaking out, the other man is out of the room, leaving no trace of his presence, making Greg question if that has truly just happened or if it was just a particularly vivid hallucination.

“I told you,” Sherlock says, smiling like the Cheshire cat. “I was doing you a favour.”

Well, Greg supposes he was.

Although of course, Sherlock’s particular brand of favours usually leave much to be desired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I hope you’ll continue to enjoy it ;)

If someone was to see Mycroft Holmes leaving the Yard on that particular evening, no one would even suspect the inner turmoil he’s experiencing.

This, of course, is a matter of great pride for Mycroft, who detests sentiment on principle and considers showing any kind of emotion something only fools do. Of course not even him is totally immune to sentintement; there have been times, moments of weakness if you will, when his perfect blank mask slips, but only the people closest to him get to witness such moments.

So when he finally climbs into the car waiting for him, he promptly breaks down into a fit of nervous giggles. Anthea arches an eyebrow, amusement radiating from her and Mycroft would glare, if he wasn’t so busy having a minor crisis.

What the hell was he thinking, accepting Gregory’s invitation like that? Although technically Gregory wasn’t the one who invited him, in fact he didn’t seem that thrilled by the idea of taking Mycroft with him and why would he? If someone wants to flaunt their newest conquest in front of their ex, they’d never, not in a million years, pick Mycroft Holmes.

God, he’s screwed up, hasn’t he?

And then, to make matters worse, he had escaped, not giving Gregory the chance to turn him down, to say he’d rather go alone after all. It hadn’t been his idea after all, but  _ Sherlock’s  _ and now that that he thinks about it, his brother must have some ulterior motives and what can he be planning? Nothing good, that’s for certain, but--

“Has our good Inspector finally made his move?” Anthea asks suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Or why are we panicking after visiting him?”

Mycroft manages to glare this time, but of course his troublesome assistant is immune to his glares by now. She simply smirks, leaning back on her seat, watching him like a hawk.

“If you must know,” Mycroft says finally because if not with her, who is he going to share this  _ burden _ with? For whose advice is he going to ask? “I’m going with him to his school reunion.”

Anthea smiles like the cat that got the cream and leans forward, conspiratorially. “That’s good, isn’t it? Not my ideal first date, of course, but--”

“It’s not like that,” Mycroft interrupts sharply. “It was Sherlock’s idea.” Anthea arches an eyebrow and he sighs, proceeding to recount what has just happened in Gregory’s office. He can tell his tale amuses his assistant to no end; evidently she’s failing to catch the magnitude of his plight. “It’s not funny!” he snaps finally, when Anthea can no longer hold back her laughter and breaks down in giggles.

“It sort of is,” she argues, ignoring his mighty glare with practised ease. “You deal with world leaders on daily basis, no doubting yourself once, but when Inspector Lestrade asks you out--”

“He did not! Weren’t you listening?”

“Oh, _ tomayto, tomahto _ ,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “This is actually a good thing, I assure you,” she says, leaning forward once more, resting a hand over Mycroft’s. “I promise.”

He normally trusts Anthea to help him navigate social situations. He might not be as bad as Sherlock when it comes to  _ dealing  _ with people but he wouldn’t say he’s an expert either. And when it comes to  _ emotional  _ matters…

And yet-- “So you’re not covering for me and telling him I’m actually busy on that day?” he asks, already knowing what she’s going to answer and Anthea doesn’t disappoint, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll clear up your schedule,” she declares calmly, ignoring Mycroft’s dejected sigh.

Well, nothing for it now, he supposes.

* * *

 

Somehow, Mycroft manages to forget all about his  _ date,  _ or at least push it to the back of his mind for the next two weeks. He is, after all, a very busy person and he really can’t afford to get distracted by thoughts of romance, particularly when all the given evidence signals that Gregory doesn’t like him like that and so when the day of the dreaded date finally rolls around, it takes him completely by surprise.

“Trust me, you’re overdoing it with the tuxedo,” Anthea tells him, not looking up from her phone as Mycroft considers his options while standing in front of his closet. He does have an awful lot of clothes and yet, nothing seems appropriate for tonight.

“I should have bought something,” he murmurs softly, placing the tuxedo back with the rest of his clothes, biting his lip nervously. “Why didn’t you remind me this was tonight? I could--”

“You would have had another meltdown,” Anthea replies easily. “And we couldn’t afford that while dealing with the americans, could we?”

Mycroft makes a face, displeased. God, for a moment it had seemed like that meeting would never end. “Fair enough,” he agrees, pulling another one of his suits. “Except of course now I have nothing to wear!” he says, well aware he’s behaving like a dramatic teenager going on their first date, although to be fair he didn’t get to be a dramatic teenager, let alone go on his first date as a teen so he’s entitled to behave as he wishes, isn’t he?

Anthea rolls her eyes dramatically, standing up. “Sit down,” she orders very seriously, passing him her phone. “You answer the mail, I’ll find you something,” she carries on and throws a mighty glare in his direction when he attempts to argue.

Damn, he has trained her entirely too well.

But answering emails does make him relax somewhat. Dealing with troublesome world leaders’ problems is nothing compared to going on a date with the man he’s been admiring from afar since forever, even if it’s not a date-date.

“Here,” Anthea says, throwing some clothes to him, startling him. “Now go take a shower and get ready. Just one more hour to go.”

Mycroft gulps, bracing himself as he proceeds to do as he’s told.

What a night awaits him.

* * *

 

“What’s that?” Mycroft asks as Anthea places what looks like a cigarette case in the pocket inside his suit jacket. He’s trying to quit smoking and he knows Gregory is trying too, so really…

“Just a few essentials,” she replies, winking. “A little packet of lube, a condom, mints. You know, the basics.”

Mycroft goes bright red at that. “That’s-- that’s not-- I told you it’s not like that!”

She rolls her eyes once more. “Well, at the very least you’re going to use the mints. You want a fresh breath when you kiss the Inspector, don’t you?”

Kiss? Who-- why-- when? “What?! We’re not-- that’s not-- I said--”

“Well, you’re pretending to be his boyfriend, are you not? You’re going to have to kiss him at some point.”

Oh god. He failed to consider that. He completely failed to consider that. “I don’t think I can.”

“Sure you can,” Anthea argues goodnaturedly. “It’s easy. Just… follow his lead, I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you the ropes.”

That’s-- that’s not something he wants to consider, not right now. “I do know how to kiss, you know?”

“You could have fooled me,” Anthea teases, earning herself a glare. “Mycroft, it’ll be fine. Just… go with whatever feels natural. It’ll be fine.”

Oh, how he wishes he had her confidence. “Alright,” he murmurs, more to convince himself than his companion. Anthea however smiles, patting his arm reassuringly. “Let’s do this,” he murmurs, exiting his house and heading for the car, all the while telling himself he can do totally do this, there’s nothing to fear and he’ll be fine.

He spends the fifteen minutes it takes to arrive to pick Gregory up repeating the same thing over and over, like a mantra and by the time the car’s door open, he’s somewhat managed to convince himself  that it’ll all be fine.

And then he takes a look at his companion.

Dear god, it’s not going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is yet another update! Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Greg pulls at his tie awkwardly, feeling like he’s suffocating even if he knows the knot isn’t that tight. Mycroft is still watching him while pretending not to and he’s rather terrible at it.  _ Funny _ , Greg thinks; based on Sherlock’s tales one would think Mycroft is much better at this looking inconspicuous-thing.

He looks down at himself once more, wondering if he somehow managed to get something on his suit. He doesn’t think he did, considering he avoided even drinking water after he finished dressing up and when he glanced at himself in the mirror before leaving the flat he had thought he looked quite good in fact: he does clean up nicely, or so he’s been told in the past.

And yet Mycroft will not stop looking at him, so obviously there’s something wrong. Maybe it’s too much? It is a new suit and of course Mycroft Holmes would notice that but Greg did need to get a new suit, even if this reunion nonsense hadn’t come up: his old suits are falling in pieces after all the running after Sherlock he has done for the last decade, so really, it couldn’t have been helped.

It was merely coincidental he decided to buy it shortly after Mycroft agreed to come with him. It’s not correlated, no sir. Greg isn’t that much of a lost cause and he’s certainly not delusional: he does know that no matter what he wears he could not possibly hope to hold Mycroft’s attention.

Except, apparently, he has somehow managed it tonight.

He tugs at his sleeves, still wondering about that. It’s a nice suit, a little more expensive than the ones he’d usually buy but the man at the store had assured him it was quite a bargain, all things considered. Greg knows next to nothing about designers, but can tell when something is well made and sure, it’s nowhere near as nice as the one Mycroft is wearing and it certainly wasn’t custom made but--

It works, doesn’t it?

He hadn’t been so certain on the color, truth to be told. Black or grey are his go-to colors when it comes to suits, navy blue on occasions. This one is dark blue, he can’t remember the exact name the salesman had called it and the cut is… well, not exactly classical but very  _ in  _ according to him and Greg had thought he looked rather great and stylish, also perhaps a tad slimmer and--

Maybe he’s looking at this wrong. Maybe it’s not the suit, but the shirt. He knew he should have just picked the white one-- classical, but impossible to get wrong. But he had liked this light blue, he had though it contrasted nicely with the suit jacket and maybe it’s a little tight, maybe the buttons are threatening to pop open at any given minute but the tie should cover that, shouldn’t it? Surely it’s not that noticeable? And it’s not like he’s wearing nothing underneath, so even if the buttons do pop open eventually…

Maybe the problem is the tie. Maybe it’s too formal. Of course, Mycroft is wearing a three-piece suit and a tie, but this is Mycroft Holmes we’re talking about. Greg saw him once without his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up, tie undone and the sight had been positively  _ obscene.  _ It had taken every bit of Greg’s self control not to throw himself at the man so it’s really in everyone’s best interests that Mycroft wears all his layers while in public, but Greg is the kind of person who rarely ever actually wears ties and when he has to, he usually ends up leaving them scattered around the office after whatever thing that made him wear them in the first place is over, so--

That’s probably it, he tells himself. Mycroft is surprised by seeing him all dressed up, that’s all. Maybe he even thinks Greg looks well enough which he must have found surprising, seeing he certainly has never given Greg a second look. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. But it certainly helps ease Greg’s nerves a little, so that’s the explanation he’s going to go with, thank you very much.

He tapes his fingers against his knee, staring outside the window, wondering just how far away they still are. The exact details of tonight’s venue are fuzzy at best: Greg must admit he didn’t pay much attention when the invitation first came in, or rather, he didn’t pay attention to the details, too busy half panicking about the implications. You’d think that with all his experience as a Detective he’d know how  _ crucial  _ details are, Sherlock would certainly have something to say about it, but that had been lost in the suffocating panic he had felt.

It’s ridiculous, he’s well aware. He’s a grown man, whatever his former schoolmates might think of him or not can not be that important. Besides, it’s not like his life sucks, not really: he has a job he likes (some might even say he’s a little obsessed with it) and the divorce made him lose his first flat, but he’s in the process of buying another. He has a steady income, which he’s fairly sure is more than a lot of people can say, particularly in this economy and it’s an important one, very much so, so really, what if he’s currently single? He’s not that terrible to look at, in any case, he could probably get an actual date if he tried or if, you know, he wasn’t terribly hung up on the man currently sitting in front of him.

It’s silly that he’s made such a big deal out of this. Even if he had shown up alone, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world, would it? But he acted like he was a teenager once more, upset Megan was going with someone else (they usually ended up fighting right before any school party and she always went with someone else and really, Greg should have figured out that wasn’t going to work a  _ lifetime  _ ago). And now--

Well, he can’t exactly say he regrets this outcome. Even if Mycroft agreed to come with him out of pity,  _ as friends,  _ it’s still more than Greg ever thought he’d get out of the man. He probably should send Sherlock a thank you gift or something. Maybe a nice cold case, the sort that left the department puzzled for years…

“We have arrived,” Mycroft announces suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts and Greg jumps just a little. His companion arches an eyebrow, looking vaguely amused and Greg blushes bright red. God, why is he such a hopeless mess when it comes to dealing with Mycroft Holmes?

“Yes,” he murmurs rather uselessly. “Right. Alright. Let’s do this.” He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking he’s being so terribly silly. Mycroft is watching him funnily, a curious expression on his face, but he says nothing and before Greg can say anything and embarrass himself further, the door gets open by Mycroft’s driver.

Mycroft exits the car first, esparing a quick worried look in Greg’s direction and Greg sighs, thankful for the few seconds he has to gather his wits. He still can’t quite believe this is happening, but apparently it is and second guessing himself now won’t do him any favours, but--

Mycroft offers him his hand to help him out and Greg takes it, discreetly pinching himself as Mycroft gives his driver some last minute instructions regarding the time to pick them up. Then his companion turns to him, offering him a shy smile that Greg returns, vaguely wondering if it looks as maniatic as it feels. He really can’t believe this is happening; he’s half expecting to wake up any minute now.

Mycroft stares at him for a beat, probably wondering why Greg is frozen in the spot and he tells himself he needs to stop behaving like crazy and recover his cool. He would have never expected Mycroft to agree to come with him to this event and now that they’re here, it’s in everyone’s best interests that he does not screw up.

But--

Greg startles as Mycroft places a hand on the small of his back, probably to guide him towards the entrance. It’s an innocent enough gesture, but it feels oddly intimate or maybe Greg is just too jittery and he practically jumps out of his skin although it does make him move.

Mycroft continues watching him curiously as they make their way upstairs. The rest of the world has taken a blurry quality; if pressed Greg could not possibly say where he is or what’s going on around him. Oh god, this was a terrible idea: what’s the point of coming if he can’t focus on anything that’s not his companion?

“Relax,” Mycroft whispers, suddenly standing too close and Greg realizes they’ve come to stand in front of a door. “You look entirely too tense, Inspector.”

Right. Right, that’s… easy for him to say, he’s not the one having a minor meltdown. “I don’t think this was a very good idea,” Greg murmurs and Mycroft watches him curiously for a beat, opening his mouth to say something, just to get interrupted by a cheerful greeting coming from their side.

“Greg!” a tall bulky man greets, resting one meaty hand on Greg’s shoulder, squeezing. “What a surprise! Didn’t think you’d come!”

“Hey, Matt,” Greg greets as politely as he can, distancing himself from the man’s hand, throwing Mycroft a panicked look. “Long time no see,” he continues and he finds himself wondering just why he wanted to come to this thing. Had he really forgotten how he disliked most of his “mates” who were in truth just Megan’s friends?

It seems so. God, how could he forget that?

“And who’s this?” Matt continues, either oblivious to Greg’s dislike or simply not caring enough. He’s looking at Mycroft up and down, seizing him up, eyes zooming on the very expensive watch (or Greg assumes it’s expensive).

“Ah, this… umm… this…”

“Mycroft Holmes,” his companion introduces himself smoothly, offering his hand to shake, his grip steady and perhaps a tad forceful, judging by the funny face Matt makes before letting go of it. “I’m Gregory’s partner.”

Oh gosh. Did he-- did he just say--?

This must be a dream. That’s the only explanation. “Partner, huh?” Matt says, looking at Mycroft up and down once more. “Well. It seems you’re doing well for yourself, eh Greg? None of us expected you to move on so soon.”

Greg glares, annoyed at the implication but Matt doesn’t wait to hear his response,waving goodbye distractedly as he enters the room where the party is being held. The door closes after him, a bit ominous, Greg thinks, leaving him standing outside, trying to gather his wits once more.

“You don’t seem to like this Matt,” Mycroft points out, rather redundantly and Greg rolls his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he murmurs sulkily, earning himself a raised eyebrow from his companion. “Sorry. It’s-- an inside joke at the office.” He waves a hand dismissively, unwilling to go into deep with that, just in case. “Anyway, no, I really don’t. He’s… he was a friend of Megan, kinda, but I always found him very annoying. Most of her friends, now that I think about it.”

Mycroft hums, nodding, eyes fixed on the door. “I see,” he murmurs, although Greg very much doubts he does. Not that it matters, of course, not right now.

“Why did you introduce yourself as my partner?” he asks and that’s a stupid question, really. One does not look at a gift horse in the mouth, but--

“Isn’t that why you invited me?” Mycroft asks, sounding honestly puzzled, his tone having a panicky edge, although maybe Greg is just imagining things. “To pretend to be your actual date?”

Oh. Oooohhhh. “Well, I… I mean, that’s--”

“Was I mistaken?” Mycroft asks and yes, there’s definitely some panic there.

“No!” Greg exclaims, panicking himself. “I just… I mean, I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d be up to it. But it’s fine! Better than fine actually!” he chuckles, perhaps a tad hysterically, shaking his head. “Sorry, I just-- I mean, thank you.”

Mycroft is biting his lip, just the slightest bit and damn, Greg shouldn’t find it as distracting as he does, but-- “Alright. Should we… go inside?”

“Yes,” Greg says, biting his own lip, thinking the night keeps getting weirder and weirder, although he can’t complain about this particular outcome. He’d have been happy letting his ex schoolmates think whatever they wanted about his relationship with Mycroft but if the other man is actually willing to pretend to be his partner… All for the best, right?

And if Greg desperately wishes that was actually true…

Well, that’s not here not there, is it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? I’d like to point out that at no point does Sherlock say Mycroft has to pretend to be Greg’s date, that’s just what Mycroft assumes. Wonder why? ;)  
> I hope the first part didn’t feel off. Greg is rambling inside his own head and we get to peek into it, but I wonder if it’s a little too over the place :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! The last part has me a little nervous because it might be… well, weird, but hopefully it’ll make sense :P  
> Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it!

_ Panicking, _ Mycroft tells himself, _ won’t do him any favours. _

He forces himself to keep his face perfectly blank and his body relaxed, so he won’t betray his panicked thoughts. He should have known, really, that this wasn’t like that: of course Gregory just wanted someone to come with him, not someone to pretend to be his date. If that had been the case, he certainly wouldn’t have asked Mycroft but someone much more attractive.

He holds back a sigh, his fingers brushing his phone inside his pocket briefly. He’s tempted to text Anthea and ask her to fake a national emergency (or better yet, fabricate an actual national emergency so he’ll focus on that rather than his embarrassing  _ faux pas _ ), but he knows his treacherous assistant will refuse. She’ll probably be amused by the confusion, although perhaps he can try to make her feel guilty: after all, she was the one who convinced him this was a good thing.

He thinks of the cigarette case in the inside pocket of his jacket and of its embarrassing contents. Not that he ever truly believed the night could possibly end like _ that _ , he does not make an habit of deluding himself and he’s a practical man above it all, but--

Well. Too much for that particular hope it seems.

He tells himself to focus on his surroundings instead, make himself  _ useful  _ somehow. It won’t do to embarrass Gregory further: it’s bad enough he has now introduced himself as Gregory’s  _ partner _ and now he’s stuck pretending they’re actually together, it won’t do for his former schoolmates to think Mycroft is both unattractive and  _ dull _ .

Although maybe they won’t notice, Mycroft thinks sourly as he half listens to Gregory talk to their new found companions. How Gregory tolerated them once upon a time is beyond him: they’re impossibly  _ boring.  _ Between the three of them they don’t seem to have a single functional brain cell.

Gregory laughs at something, the sound horribly forced and then hurries to escape under the pretense of getting them some drinks. Mycroft follows dutifully, sending one last dubious look in the direction of Greg’s former schoolmates.

“Your…  _ friends  _ seem a little odd fitted,” he comments, accepting the drink Gregory passes him and watching with concern as his companion practically chugs his own. “Not at all like the kind of people you’d actually enjoy spend time with.”

“Well, I was always a bit of an odd duck,” Gregory says with a shrug. “Didn’t have that many friends, actually.”

Mycroft frowns, considering this. “Didn’t you?”

Gregory laughs, this time honestly and Mycroft’s heart skips a beat. “Nope,” he says, pouring himself another drink. “I’m still not the friendly type. Or have you failed to notice the only person I go out for drinks is John, who, you know, isn’t  _ Mr. Social  _ either? And why do you think I put up with your nutjob of a brother?” he finishes his drink once more and Mycroft wonders if he ought to try to stop him from pouring himself yet another one. “None of us is very good at this friends-business.”

Mycroft hums. He had never considered that, but he supposes there’s some truth in Gregory’s words. “I didn’t… you have a most alluring aura, Gregory. I’d think people are attracted to you on regular basis.” It occurs him, perhaps a little late, that that’s not the sort of thing he ought to say out loud. His companion arches an eyebrow, vaguely amused and Mycroft does his best not to blush furiously.

“That’s sweet of you,” Gregory replies, taking a small sip from his drink. “But that’s not the case,” he adds with a careless shrug. “I’m just... I take things too seriously, apparently. And I’m a bit of a workaholic, so… there.”

Mycroft takes a sip of his own drink and scrunches his nose in displeasure. God, but this is awful. “Why did you want to come, then?”

Gregory sighs, shaking his head. “I mean-- I don’t know. I do have fond memories of school, you know? I’m just coming to realize they’re not… wow, nostalgia is quite something, isn’t it?”

Mycroft shrugs. “Perhaps,” he agrees. “We could always leave, if that’s what you want,” Mycroft says, although he has little hope his desperate attempt to escape will work. “Maybe go for a decent drink,” he adds after a beat and immediately regrets it: god, how much of an idiot he is? Gregory doesn’t-- this isn’t--

“Too pedestrian for your posh tastes?” Gregory asks with a smirk, raising the bottle of whisky he’s been pouring himself drinks from. Mycroft can’t help scrunching his nose once more and Gregory laughs goodnaturedly, warming Mycroft’s insides more than any drink ever possible could.

Before he can say anything though, he catches sight of someone approaching and his expression sours considerably. Gregory frowns, confused, before turning around to face the newcomer.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a surprise?” Ms. Davis, formerly Mrs. Lestrade says, coming to stand in front of them. Mycroft never liked the woman much (how could he?) but he can easily see why Gregory liked her so much. She’s nearing her fifties, just like Gregory, but she’s one of those people that seems to get even more attractive as they age. 

The woman throws a fake smile in Mycroft’s direction, before turning her attention to Gregory. She’s wearing a very flattering red dress, lips and nails painted the same colour, her long blond hair falling on her left side. She looks effortlessly well put together and Mycroft feels woefully under groomed next to her.

“Megan,” Gregory greets, tone icy and Mycroft takes a step closer to him. This could get ugly very quickly, he reckons, although he must admit he doesn’t particularly mind. He’s ready for whatever might come or so he thinks.

The woman smirks, tossing her long hair back. “I’d say I’m surprised to see you here, but I really aren’t,” she says, her eyes flickering to Mycroft briefly. “Bit surprised about the choice of partner, though.  _ Pleasure  _ to see you, Mr. Holmes.” Her smirk widens as Mycroft’s eyes narrow and Gregory frowns, confused.

“You know each other?” Gregory asks, looking between them and it occurs Mycroft that he should have mentioned this little fact sooner.

Ms. David rolls her eyes dramatically. “Considering the amount of time you spent chasing his junkie of a brother around, does it really surprise you?” she asks, tone dripping venom. The words aren’t exactly harsh: Mycroft has heard far worse when it comes to his brother, but something in her tone suggests that’s not, by far, the killing blow. “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asks, her eyes fixed on Mycroft now, cold and cruel as she continues to smirk. “The fact that he used to screw your little brother? Aren’t you a bit worried about comparisons?”

“Megan!” Gregory exclaims, cheeks aflame and Mycroft finds himself out of words. He deals with far worse people and far worse insults; this isn’t the worst kind of thing he’s been told and yet he finds himself oddly speechless. There are a hundred things he could say, he knows, a hundred deductions he could splurt but--

Next thing he knows, Gregory is hauling him away, that odious woman’s laugh resonating across the room. It’s ridiculous, he knows he’s being ridiculous but--

“Are you okay?” Gregory asks, sounding honestly concerned, eyes very round and wide.

“Yes,” Mycroft replies and is happy to see he has recovered his voice. God, what the hell is wrong with him? “I didn’t-- I don’t why that affected me so,” he adds after a brief pause, shaking his head. “I suppose it just took me by surprise.”

Gregory is watching him funnily, a light frown on his face. “You know Sherlock and I never… I mean, Megan used to insinuate it  _ all the time,  _ but I never-- I mean, I like your brother well enough but  _ not like that _ .” He’s blushing furiously, just as embarrassed as Mycroft and he hates to admit he finds some level of comfort in that. Ms. Davis has always been a vicious woman: she wouldn’t be out of place at any of the political meetings Mycroft attends on regular basis but neither of them could have seen that particularly well delivered jab coming.

He knows Gregory and Sherlock didn’t…  _ do that. _ Gregory cares for Sherlock, in a very similar way than Mycroft does and that would have been all kinds of awkward. And even if they had, Gregory is too much of a gentleman to  _ compare  _ his sexual partners between them and in any case it’s not like him and Mycroft… it’s not...

It shouldn’t have affected him but he’ll admit it was well played. It’s a low blow, well designed to push his weak spots: his own love for his younger brother and his insecurities when it comes to comparing himself with Sherlock. He might be the smart one, but in every other aspect, he always comes short.

If there was a competition to win Gregory’s affection, he has no doubt who’d come in top. And isn’t just lucky his little brother is that infatuated with his good doctor? “I know,” he replies with a nod. “I just… I don’t know. It took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Gregory looks far from convinced but he doesn’t push. Mycroft bites his lip gently, unsure of what else he can say, letting his eyes wander around them. They’re in some sort of inside garden-- small and private, even if not terribly appealing. 

Later, he’ll blame his  _ distracted  _ state on how flustered he had felt, but maybe he was just too comfortable to notice. Either way, it takes him quite a while to become aware of the fact that Gregory is holding his hand, tracing circles over his wrist in a manner that would be calming, if it didn’t involve that much touching.

“Sorry,” his companion says, letting go of his hand and taking a step back. “I… sorry,” he repeats with an embarrassed smile and Mycroft tries to offer him a smile of his own, although he fails miserably.

“We should go back to the party,” he murmurs, looking in the direction they came from. “There’s still quite a few people to meet, huh?”

Gregory sighs, shaking his head. “This was a terrible idea,” he murmurs and Mycroft’s heart constricts in his chest. “Maybe-- maybe it’s best if we leave.”

Mycroft’s stomach sinks, but he puts on a brave face. “If that’s what you want,” he agrees. “But I’m much better now, I promise. I won’t embarrass you any further.”

“You didn’t--” Gregory begins, looking vaguely horrified, before interrupting himself, biting his lip none too gently. “Please don’t-- this isn’t on you,” he adds after a beat, just to be kind, Mycroft thinks, because this is most definitely on him. “Are you sure-- do you want to--?” he trails off awkwardly, gesturing back in the direction of the party and Mycroft squares his shoulders, telling himself he can do this.

“Of course,” he replies, with as much confidence as he can summon. “I’m better now.”

Gregory looks at him funnily, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he offers him his arm and Mycroft hurries to take it, telling himself he’s not going to screw things up any further.

He can do this.

He _ can. _

He will.

For Gregory, he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> On the few occasions I’ve written the former Mrs. Lestrade, I tend to have a little more… eh… sympathetic look on her. Mostly, because I don’t like to equal total bitch = serial cheater, I think there’s more to infidelity than that but well… for the purpose of the fic, it works.  
> As for Mycroft’s speechless spell, there are several things playing against him: his own nerves and the feeling of being inadequate, not to mention his embarrassment at what he considers was a huge mistake (meaning, introducing himself as Greg’s partner). I hope it made sense and I swear it’ll serve a purpose. Eventually :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so so terribly sorry about how long this chapter took. I was a bit stuck with it, wanting it to go in a certain direction, but it wasn’t really working and so I told myself not to keep trying to force it and voila! here we are :P  
> Hope you’ll enjoy it!

In retrospective, it’s clear that coming to the reunion was a huge mistake.

Not that Greg can do anything about it now, of course. Except leaving, of course, even if that feels a little too much like conceding defeat. But he would, he really would, if Mycroft had wanted that too but his companion seems determined to show their little encounter with his ex didn’t affect them at all.

Except, of course, that’s a total  _ lie. _

Tension radiates from Mycroft’s body in waves. Greg very much doubts anyone can truly notice, seeing Mycroft is being his usual perfectly well collected self, but Greg can feel it between them, simmering, waiting for the moment to explode.

He looks around the room discreetly, his hand still firmly on the small of Mycroft’s back, tracing soothing circles that he doubts are very soothing at all. Or perhaps they’re soothing, but Mycroft isn’t the one being soothed.

He catches sight of Megan watching them, a calculating expression on her face. He sees no sign of her current partner and he cannot deny the vindictive pleasure he feels at the idea she might be on her own. It’d probably explain her excessive viciousness from earlier: he does understand the need to lash out when you’re hurt, although he’s also terribly aware of how unfair that is.

He’s more than aware of his role in their marital troubles, of course. He’s not the type of man who misplaces the blame, even if sometimes it felt like the right thing to do. Of course Megan choose to cheat on him time and time again, but he does admit he was often emotionally distant and perhaps more than a little too enamored with his job.

Life is rarely completely black and white and he was more than willing to take his share of the blame, but Megan was never willing to meet him halfway. And at some point, he realized he didn’t care.

He sighs, turning his attention back to their interlocutors. Mycroft has carried the conversation rather effortlessly, even though it’s obvious he’s dying of boredom inside. Greg’s lips twitch upwards; it’s lucky Mycroft does have some manners. He can only imagine what Sherlock would be doing, if he was in his place.

The thought of Sherlock of course, brings him back to Megan’s earlier comment. He was always too fond of the boy, that much is true, perhaps he cared more than what would have been expected. But Sherlock had been so young and so lost when they met and Greg supposed that brought forward his long buried wish to look after someone. He can not in all honesty say he’d have been a good father, not with the crazy hours he pulls and his sometimes short temper, but he had always relished the idea of looking after someone and Sherlock had given him that, even if he also felt like strangling him half of the time.

And of course meeting Sherlock had meant meeting Mycroft and that… well. Mycroft hadn’t known what to do with Sherlock, although it had been evident how much he cared and so he had been willing to work with Greg in hopes of getting his brother’s life back in track. Greg’s certain the other man didn’t like him that much at first and with good reason, probably. They were constantly snapping at each other at first, each convinced they knew better. Eventually though, they had worked out a system and Sherlock started doing so much better, so they fell into an easy acceptance of each other that, eventually, developed into something more.

Greg will not deny he felt the pull of attraction right from the start. It was hard not to feel attracted to Mycroft, why with the posh accent and the posh clothes and his better-than-you attitude. Greg found him annoying as hell, yes and yet he also very much wanted to unravel the mystery of the man, see what was beneath that cold and collected exterior.

He’s seen that now, of course, in ways he didn’t expect. He’s seen Mycroft cry next to his brother’s hospital bed, clothes a mess, unshowered and so bloody desperate. He’s seen him laugh too, an honest to god laugh, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He’s seen the man beneath the mask, the big heart that Mycroft hides from the world, terrified of being hurt and while Greg knows that’s been an unspeakable privilege, he also  _ selfishly  _ wants to see more. 

That’s never going to happen, of course. And while Greg was married, he always told himself it was because  _ he was married,  _ not because the other man was way out of his league. Ever since the divorce came through though, he has had a harder time keeping himself in check, stopping himself from doing something foolish that will definitely push Mycroft out of his life.

He leans closer to his companion, desperately needing some reassurance. This night has been rather awful so far, the only good thing being this closeness. He can feel Mycroft relaxing against him too, the tension between them still there, but not the sort of tension that threatens to suffocate you, not anymore.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft murmurs, leaning towards him, his breath ghosting over his ear and it takes every bit of Greg’s self control not to swoon like a fair maiden in a romance novel.

“Yes,” he replies with a conviction he doesn’t really feel, what feels like the world’s more forced smile on his lips. Mycroft frowns, obviously not believing him, but he doesn’t push, turning his attention back to their companions.

It’s not like Greg could have given him an honest answer, anyway.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry the night is going so spectacularly bad,” Mycroft comments, aiming to sound off handed and missing the mark entirely. Greg smiles all the same, because it’s nice he cares enough to try to make him feel better.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, seeing it’s not your fault,” Greg points out and he notices the way Mycroft’s jaw clenches, even if it’s barely a twitch of a muscle. He’s well accustomed to reading Mycroft’s almost non existent body language, picking up cues most people would miss. “It’s really not, Mycroft.”

His companion shrugs non committedly, twirling his cigarette between his fingers. Greg itches to ask for one, but he’s doing too well to give up now. One way or another, he’s going to quit smoking. “I’m afraid I’m not the most…  _ entertaining  _ partner,” Mycroft murmurs, slightly self deprecating and Greg rolls his eyes.

“Because I’m such a joy to be around,” he says sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really Mycroft, this night has been horrible and the only thing saving it from being a complete disaster is the fact that you’re here with me.”

He blushes a little at the confession, wondering if he’s said too much. Mycroft however doesn’t react, simply taking one slow drag from his cigarette. “We could leave,” Mycroft suggests once more, not looking at Greg. “There must a bar somewhere around here that offers decent drinks.”

Greg chuckles, shaking his head. “I should have just asked you out for drinks,” he says and Mycroft looks at him, a curious expression on his face. Before either of them can say anything else though, they’re joined by someone else.

“What’s the point of coming to the reunion if you’re just going to hide away?” Megan asks, in that deceptively sweet tone of hers, a smirk on her lips. “Bit chilly out here, don’t you think?”

“Megan, please,” Greg says, turning to her. “I do not think I have the mental strength required to deal with you right now.”

“Oh? Trouble in paradise?” she questions, pushing as always and Greg pinches the bridge of his nose, telling himself now is not the time to be losing his temper.

“Far from it,” Mycroft replies for him, coming to stand closer, wrapping an arm around Greg’s waist, completely oblivious to the effect that’s having on the Inspector. “Sorry to disappoint, Ms. Davis, but we’re very happy together, thank you very much. Gregory is just tired of dealing with your, I must say, terribly boring schoolmates.”

“Oh, they’re not the brightest bunch,” Megan concedes and there’s a gleam in her eye that tells Greg the worst is yet to come. “How long have you two been dating, anyway?” she asks and Greg bites his lip, knowing that everything he says will be used against him and also regretting he didn’t think of coming up with a cover story of sorts. “Can not possibly be that long, if he’s still making you happy,” she tells Mycroft, eyes fixed on him, a cruel smirk on her lips. And it shouldn’t hurt, it really shouldn’t, because it’s not like he cares, but--

“That’s--”

“Then again,” Megan carries on, undeterred, a predator getting ready for the kill. “After so many  _ many  _ years of silent pining… it must be something.” She turns to look at Greg, an innocent smile on her face. “I think you might still have a few months, before you realize how disappointing dear Greg can be.”

Greg can feel his face burning, both in embarrassment and outrage. Good god, how does this woman still has this effect in him? It shouldn’t-- he shouldn’t-- and yet--

“You are right, Ms. Davis,” Mycroft says, voice stern and dripping with anger. “I did spend an awful lot of time pining after Gregory,” he continues and Greg can feel his treacherous heart fluttering, even if he knows it’s only a lie to cover for him. “All the while you kept hurting him and lying to him, being cruel and unfair and totally unworthy.” He steps forward, standing in front of Gregory now, as if shielding him. “So if someone is a disappointment here, that’d be you.” Megan opens her mouth to protest, but Mycroft carries on quickly, not giving her the chance. “That’s the reason you’re here alone tonight, isn’t it?”

Megan pursues her lips, angry, but not quite defeated. “You know nothing,” she hisses and Mycroft shrugs non committedly.

“I’ll admit I know very little about romantic relationships,” he acknowledges calmly. “But I do know a lot about people’s character. And I know Gregory is the best man I know and while I could never hope to actually deserve him, you can bet I’ll do my best to at least not disappoint.”

There’s such conviction in his voice and Greg’s heart is doing silly summersaults, pleased beyond words. He steps a bit closer to Mycroft, taking his hand in his and his companion startles a bit, blushing before squeezing Greg’s hand back.

The rest of the world has stopped existing and while Greg is vaguely aware of Megan leaving in a huff, his whole focus is on the man in front of him. Mycroft’s smile is tentative, perhaps a bit embarrassed and Greg smiles, standing on his tiptoes so he can kiss his companion on the mouth.

Mycroft makes a startled sound, surprised, but he doesn’t pull away. Greg closes his eyes, wanting to enjoy the moment as much as he can, wanting to burn the memory of it into his brain without any other distractions. Mycroft places a hand on his waist, his touch light and uncertain and Greg throws his arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

When he finally pulls away for air, Greg opens his eyes very slowly, reluctantly. Mycroft did return the kiss, of course, but what does this mean? His words seemed entirely too heartfelt to be a total lie, but Greg doesn’t dare to really hope, not yet anyway.

“I think it’s best if we leave,” Mycroft says, breaking the spell between them. “It’s getting late and I do think you’ve drunk a lot.”

Greg wants to protest, he’s not by any means actually drunk and hadn’t Mycroft suggested they went to some actual bar? But something in Mycroft’s expression gives him pause; he looks… upset, although Greg can’t exactly pinpoint why and while he wants to ask, he also knows this might not be the best place for it.

“Alright,” Greg murmurs, squeezing the hand he’s still holding. “Perhaps we could do some coffee at my place?” 

Mycroft bites his lip, considering, before finally nodding once, an expression of quiet determination on his face.

_ This could go very badly _ , Greg thinks.  _ Or it could go very well. _

Either way, it’s a risk worth taking, he’s certain of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I do hope the last part doesn’t feel horribly forced :P Let me know what you thought!  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the new chapter! I’m sorry for the late update; I got caught up a bit with work, but now I’m back on track ;)  
> Enjoy!

The ride to Gregory’s home is a tense affair, although Mycroft didn’t expect any different. Then again, the night has been filled with unexpectedness, so it might not be far fetched to imagine this wouldn’t be the exception.

He finds himself pressing his fingers against his lips, reviving the kiss they shared not even half an hour ago. He does not dare to think it truly means what he desperately wants to believe it means, but perhaps-- perhaps--

He realizes he has closed his eyes, allowing himself to linger in a daydream where a kiss is not only a kiss, but the promise of so much more. He shakes his head, slightly annoyed with himself and opens his eyes, only to find Gregory staring at him intently, a most curious expression on his face.

“I do wonder what your former schoolmates will make of our hasty exit,” Mycroft says, if only to fill the silence. He’s never had the urge to do such thing with Gregory, having always detested small talk, but right now the silence feels suffocating, unbearably so.

“Well, anyone who saw that kiss will probably have some theories,” Gregory replies, a slight smirk on his lips and Mycroft notices his whole face feels a little too warm all of sudden. “I… You didn’t mind, did you? I mean… I didn’t press any unwanted advances, did I?”

“Not unwanted, no,” Mycroft replies softly, staring at his hands, linked over his lap. “Just-- unexpected. Even if we were pretending to be a couple, I didn’t--”

“That’s not why I kissed you and you know it,” Gregory interrupts, a tad sharply, but there’s some underlying fondness in his tone. Mycroft gulps, his cheeks warming up some more and he vaguely wonders if he’s coming down with something.

“Then why did you kiss me?” he finds himself asking, because while he has come up with a plausible explanation, he does not dare to hope--

“We have arrived,” Gregory says, just as the car stops. Mycroft looks outside the window and realizes that they have, indeed, made it to Gregory’s flat. He bites his lip, considering his options as his companion exits the vehicle. “Are you coming?” Gregory asks, when he notices he’s not following.

Again, Mycroft hesitates. It’d be so easy to make up some excuse, bid his companion goodnight and disappear, hide himself in his work for the next month or so, praying Sherlock won’t get into the sort of trouble that requires Mycroft to actually show up at the Yard. Pretend none of this ever happened, carry on through life with nothing but the memory of that single kiss.

Gregory sighs. “Listen, you can come up, have that coffee and we can discuss why I kissed you. Or you can go and we can pretend this never happened.” He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something, looking upwards. “I’d very much like that you come with me, but it’s up to you, Mycroft. I don’t want to impose anymore.”

He should leave. Anything else is pure madness; the coffee won’t be just coffee, the kiss won’t just be a simple kiss. It’ll turn into more, much more than what Mycroft thinks he’s really comfortable having, something he’s not entirely sure he wants, something he has no real idea how to deal with. 

And yet--

There are decisions that can change our whole lives. And sometimes, we must take our chances or live with our regrets forever more.

Mycroft takes a deep breath before sliding out of the car, surprising both his companion and himself. For a beat, they stand in front of each other in silence, way too close, both too startled by the development to do or say anything more and then Gregory smiles, bright as the sun and something within Mycroft eases, letting him know he’s made the right choice.

Come what may, he can rest assured he made the right choice.

* * *

 

Mycroft has never been to Gregory’s flat before, not this one anyway. He looks around idly, mostly to have something to do with himself rather than any actual curiosity: Gregory is a terribly practical man, who doesn’t care overly much about decoration and has very few personal articles scattered around the place, most things having a practical use rather than any emotional value.

The flat itself is rather small, but central, perfect for a man living on his own who spends most of his time at his job anyway. The bedroom’s door is closed and Mycroft’s eyes stray towards it guiltily more than once. He has no real interest in the coffee Gregory is busying himself with, but he supposes they ought to talk: a single kiss is no real basis for a relationship and Mycroft is not one to have casual involvements. Once he commits to something (or someone), he must see it to its bitter end.

That is, of course, assuming that’s where this is leading. Maybe Gregory is just about to let him down very gently, although that doesn’t make much sense: he said-- his words seemed to suggest--

But then, Mycroft is notoriously bad at reading social cues when it comes to romance, so maybe he did get it wrong. Not very likely, he doesn’t think, but he shouldn’t get his hopes up just yet, should he?

Lost in his own thoughts at he is, he fails to notice Gregory has come back into the living room and is now watching him with a fond expression, having placed one steaming coffee mug in front of him.

Mycroft blushes to the root of his hair and promptly busies himself with preparing his coffee, just with a dash of milk and a little sugar. “I was wondering if I should have offered you tea,” Gregory says, taking a seat next to Mycroft on the long couch-- close to him, but not in his personal space. “I know you don’t really drink coffee.”

Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “I don’t really mind,” he murmurs, taking a small sip from his drink. “And what I’m drinking it’s the least of my concerns right now, Gregory.” He licks his lips, a nervous gesture, well aware of the way his companion’s eyes trace the movement. “So, the kiss?”

Gregory chuckles, although he doesn’t sound amused. A bit nervous, perhaps. “Straight for the kill, huh?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink to buy himself some time to answer, Mycroft suspects. “Well, I’m sure my…  _ infatuation  _ with you, to call it something since  _ crush  _ sounds a little too junior, is no real news to you.” It sort of is, though. Mycroft has noticed some lingering looks and lingering touches, but he wouldn’t have dared to file them as evidence of Gregory’s attraction towards him. “And what you said-- I dunno. It sounded entirely too heartfelt to be a total lie, even if I happen to know you’re a terrific actor and I thought-- well, it was then or never, you know? So even if it had been all pretense… At least I’d know.” He takes another sip of his drink, a slightly mortificated expression on his face. “Sorry, that doesn’t sound… maybe it wasn’t the best reasoning.” He offers Mycroft a small smile, nervous, yes, but also painfully  _ hopeful.  _ “Did you mean any of that?”

Mycroft tapes his fingers against his knee. He meant every word, of course, but he wonders if saying as much would be showing his hand a little too much. He’s not used to speaking so candidly, Ms. Davis just rubbed him the wrong way and if he had had more time to think about it, to plan an actual strategy--

But Gregory is still looking at him, full of hope but there’s also resignation in his eyes, a look Mycroft knows all too well: the look of someone who’s expecting to be disappointed. And after the night he’s had-- he could do with a little reassurance, Mycroft figures.

“You are the best man I know,” Mycroft acknowledges, not meeting his companion’s eyes. He wants to be honest, yes, but all this is not easy for him. “And I have indeed pined for quite a while.” He licks his lips once more, eyes fixed on his hands. “And I could never deserve you, but if you were mine I’d do anything in my power to make you happy.”

There. He has laid out his heart and all he can hope for is that Gregory won’t torn it to pieces.

“Oh,” his companion murmurs, tone soft and awed. “I-- I mean, you’re being ridiculous, of course, because if someone doesn’t deserve the other that’s clearly me, but--”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Mycroft interrupts, placing his mug on the table and sliding closer to the other man on the couch. “I know Ms. Davis’ comments are weighting on you tonight, but she’s the one who couldn’t see how marvelous you are.”

Gregory bites his lip, hesitant. He places his own mug on the table and takes Mycroft’s hands in his, his touch gentle and not at all self assured, as if he’s expecting Mycroft to pull away. “I don’t really want to argue right now. And I do not believe I could convince you in just one night how deserving of affection you are, nor the other way around but for now… for now let’s agree we deserve each other, alright?”

Mycroft opens his mouth to protest and promptly closes it. Gregory is right, their own insecurities is not something that’s going to get solved overnight. “Alright,” he says, nodding. “What now?”

The kiss takes him as much by surprise as the first one, but he gets the hang of it much sooner, pulling his companion close almost right away. It’s not by any means perfect, but practice makes perfect and they do have the rest of the night in front of them.

And, with any luck, many years too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I think I’m just going to add a little epilogue to tie it in with the first part and that’ll be all for our tale. Let me know what you’ve thought so far!  
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter!  
> Before we continue, a very special thanks to the FTH’s organizers, as well as to the lovely EventHorizon who not only did they trust me to create something of their liking, but who also gave me a lot of freedom to handle this fic as I thought best ;)  
> Now, without further ado, enjoy!

Greg wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing with an incoming call.

He groans, hiding his face beneath the pillow, refusing to move. He feels warm and contented, entirely too boneless to even contemplate moving and yet, his phone won’t stop its horribly buzzing sound, disturbing his bedmate, who makes a displeased sound and so he has no choice but to pick up.

And he thought his days of having to leave his very comfortable bed for the sake of a case were long gone. What’s the point of making it to DI if you’re still going to get calls in the middle of the night?

“Yes?” he says, not really having paid attention to the caller’s ID, silently praying this will be over soon and he’ll be allowed to go back to his peaceful sleep. He half turns, his lips curving upwards at the sight that greets him: Mycroft is dead to the world, mouth slightly open, a soft snoring sound escaping his parted lips, his hair falling messily around his face.

“I’d like to cash in that favour now.”

Greg blinks, processing the words. He checks the caller’s ID and yes, it seems he’s not hallucinating. “What are you talking about Sherlock?”

A scoff and Greg can imagine the eyeroll perfectly well. “Isn’t this how it works? I did you a favour, now you owe me one?”

“Not really, no.” Greg says, rubbing a hand over his face. “You can ask John about it, if you don’t believe me.”

Another scoff. Someone is in a mood, it seems. “Come on, Lestade. After what I’ve done for you, it’s the least you can do.”

“And what exactly have you done for me?” Greg asks, still annoyed but quickly growing amused. Sherlock’s way of thinking is usually fun, if nothing else.

Sherlock sighs dramatically. “Aren’t you currently in bed with my brother?”

Greg sputters, feeling his whole face warm up. “What-- how--?!”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock drawls, sounding terribly smug and proud of himself. “It was rather obvious, really. You just needed a little push in the right direction.” Greg can practically see his smirk and he glares at nothing in particular. “So, my favour?”

“I still don’t--”

“Oh, come on, Graham,” Sherlock argues, growing annoyed. “I got you a date and I got you laid, so really, those are two favours, now that I think about it…”

Greg pinches the bridge of his nose. “And here I was worrying how you’d take it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself and Sherlock snorts.

“Oh, please,” he says. “I’ve been planning this for  _ years.  _ I was beginning to despair, actually. I thought maybe you were just too dumb for me to help you.”

Greg rolls his eyes. It’d be sweet, if it wasn’t so annoying. “Of course,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over his face. “And that favour do you want?”

Greg can practically see Sherlock perking up and he wonders if he’s going to regret this. “I want unlimited access to the morgue. Molly said--” Greg sighs, shaking his head and drowning out the sound of Sherlock’s voice. God, what has he done?

He then looks at Mycroft, still fast asleep and his heart flutters a little, something that feels a lot like happiness bubbling inside him and he smiles, thinking there’s nothing Sherlock can ask that will make this not worth it.

“So, do we have a deal, Gavin?”

“You know, if we’re going to be family, you need to learn my real name,” Greg points out, running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, smiling to himself at the pleased sound the other man makes, snuggling closer.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Geoff,” Sherlock says, tone suddenly deadly serious. “There’s quite the difference between an one night stand and a brother-in-law. I don’t think Mycroft has made his decision just yet.”

Oh, but he has, Greg thinks. He seriously doubts things would have gone as far as they did last night, particularly after their conversation, if Mycroft had no intention of staying for the long run.

No need to tell Sherlock that, though.

“Goodbye, Sherlock,” he says, deciding he ought to be sleeping, rather than arguing with his annoying friend. “And thank you,” he adds as an afterthought, figuring that’s only polite.

Sherlock huffs. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs before the line goes dead and Greg smiles before dropping his phone on the night table and lying down once more, wrapping his arms around his bedmate. Mycroft makes a contented sound, pressing closer to him, still asleep, a small smile on his lips.

Well, there’s something else to be said about Sherlock’s particular brand of favours: they’re rarely what they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I think the previous chapter worked well to close the story, but I wanted to write something extra to make it come to a full circle, or so I hoped. Not sure how successful I was, but I tried! ;)  
> As usual, it’s been a joy to share this little tale with you and again, a lot of thanks to my auction winner, EventHorizon. Hope it was what you hoped dear! :D  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> It’s just the first chapter, of course, so there’s not a lot of romance going on just yet. I wanted to write something a little more light hearted because I have a couple of darker WIPs in the works and well… I could use a little fluff. It’ll of course contain some silliness and misunderstandings and mutual pining but that’s yet to come ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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